


Summer at Thornhill

by swan_mills



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swan_mills/pseuds/swan_mills
Summary: When Veronica takes up a job offer at Thornhill Manor, she doesn't intend for it to change her life so dramatically. How will she deal with her crush on Cheryl Blossom, the snobbish daughter of her employer's?*THIS IS AN AU. I DO NOT OWN RIVERDALE, ARCHIE COMICS, OR IT'S CHARACTERS*





	1. Meeting Cheryl Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third Cheroncia fic! I haven't been writing for a while but I really like where this one is heading and I already have the next few chapters planned out. I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I have been enjoying writing it! I'll try to have the next chapter up in a few days! Don't worry, the rest of the Riverdale gang will be making appearances as the story progresses ;)

"Holy shit."

The words soared from the brunette’s parched throat in an awed, panted whisper as the tires of her cherry red bike squeaked to a halt, crunching leaves beneath the black rubber. Her bag, full of every belonging she could possibly need over the next month, smacked against her back with a heavy thump at her sudden stop and the momentum threw her upper body over the handlebars as she gawked at the building standing before her.

At the horizon of a winding, cobblestone pathway was the largest house she had seen in her entire twenty one years of life. Surrounded by old, looming trees, the gray stone mansion looked anything but inviting. It appeared cold despite the summer wind, standing tall beneath the clear blue sky and closed off to the rest of the neighborhood by an intimidatingly sharp gate. She appeared to be a tiny speck amongst vast acres of freshly mown grass dancing in the wind as she dropped her feet onto the gravel, fishing inside her pocket until she found a crinkled ball of paper and slipped it out quickly.

She glanced over the address she had hastily scrawled down a week ago, after speaking to a rather uptight man over the phone about a potential job, and double checked that she had the right house. Seeing that she was indeed at the right place, she hopped off her bike and slowly walked it down the pathway, its greasy and old chains creaking. She tipped her head back under the warm rays of the yellow sun, eyeing the closed off windows and tall wooden door as sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and stuck her top to her skin.

It had been a long bike ride from her tiny apartment to this house, and at first sight, she instantly wanted to turn right back around and leave. She had never been in such a glamorous area and she was immediately intimidated. But there was a grand opportunity behind those doors and she was not going to let it breeze by.

She shoved the kickstand of her bike down with one flourish with the tip of her shoe, watching the metal sink into the soft soil and lush green grass as she breathed in the scent of growing flowers. She gripped the straps of her backpack nervously with sweaty palms as her shoes shuffled over to the doorway.

Biting her lip, she took in a shuddering breath and hesitantly lifted her fist to knock on the door. There was a brief period of waiting, to which she spent admiring the fine oak wood until the door opened and she found herself staring back into the kind, wrinkled face of an elderly man wearing something almost like a tuxedo.

"How may I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice low and sweet. She blinked rapidly as she realized – holy shit – he was a fucking butler.

“Um," she cleared her throat, unsure of how to respond to such a person. "Uh… my name's Veronica Lodge? I- I spoke to a Mr. Blossom on the phone about taking the spot of a cook while his, um… original chef was… er… otherwise… occupied?"

Her attempt at fitting in with the heavy, intelligent atmosphere fell short and her cheeks heated as he cocked his head with a small smile. "Come on in, Miss Lodge," he stepped aside and allowed her to amble inside.

Wiping her shoes on the ground, she motioned to her bike, "I left that there. I hope that's okay."

“Of course, dear. I will take care of that." he smiled. Horrified at the idea of making such a frail looking man do her bidding, she shook her head.

“Oh, shi- I mean, no. That's okay. I'll do it. Just tell me where to go and I'll-"

"It's not a bother, Miss Lodge." He waved her off with a small chuckle. "Just wait right here and I'll go retrieve the lady of the house to speak with you."

"Oh, um… thank you." she muttered, shuffling her feet against the floor and cringing when her shoes squeaked across the clean marble. With one last smile her way, he disappeared down the spacious hallway. She glanced around the entryway and wrinkled her nose at the empty ground of straight stairs and one lone rug. The walls were a dark red with oak beams, a reminder to Veronica of the properties age and the families wealth. There was no sign of life, nothing homey; just a posed family portrait, implying that a loving family lived there, though that was not the impression she had gotten when speaking to Mr Blossom over the phone.

This place was definitely not what she was used to. She could just imagine the look of awe on her mother's face if she saw just where her daughter was going to be spending the next month of her life; as a struggling businesswoman, her mom would undoubtedly be envious of this seemingly perfect home.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she held the straps of her backpack, discomfort squirming in the pit of her stomach. Growing up in a small town off the outskirts of this large city and never living in a home that exceeded two rooms, Veronica knew she didn't belong in a house like this. She was already sticking out like a sore thumb, her green plaid shirt clashing with the overwhelming burgundy room. And though she rather enjoyed having the spotlight most of the time, this was not one of those times. Everything in her body begged to duck in the shadows unseen.

The sound of light footsteps broke her thoughts, and on instinct she lifted her head to the stairs to watch curiously as a woman appeared at the top of the steps.

The first thing Veronica noticed was that the woman was young, far too young to be the 'lady of the house' that the nice old man had referred to. In fact, she looked to be around Veronica’s age, maybe a year or two older at most.

The second thing Veronica noticed was how unbelievably attractive she was. Gray blazer stiff and ironed to perfection, she stood in polished shoes and short but respectable plaid skirt held up by a thin, tasteful belt, her red sweater tucked into the waist. Her firey locks were neatly combed, not a hair out of place as they cascaded over her left shoulder. Her  
cheek bones were out of this world high, her eyes surrounded by thick lashes, her sharp jaw unreal. But her eyebrows were poised arrogantly as the corner of her full red lips curled into a subtle smirk.

Hot or not, Veronica immediately disliked the attitude emanating from this stranger.

"Ah," Dark eyes scanned over Veronica’s body, taking in the rolled up sleeves of her flannel, and distastefully looking at the lack of jewellery on her tanned arms. Veronica felt herself stiffen under the woman's stare; there was something unnerving about the way her eyes took in her jeans and beloved Doc Martins. Her stare was full of judgments and assumptions; Veronica could read it in the small twitch of her face. The woman's dainty hand trailed across the dark wood of the banister as she descended the final step, the short heel of her dress shoes meeting the oak flooring quietly. "You must be the help mother was speaking about."

Even the woman's voice was soft and careful. Every move she made was cautious and calculated, as if she were creeping past a sleeping giant ready to attack if awoken from their slumber. And though she had only heard ten short words drawl up that elegant neck, Veronica could already feel dislike stirring beneath her skin for that gently pitched voice.

"The help?" she parroted, a small scowl pulling at her brow as all thoughts about the attractive level of this woman disappeared from her mind.

The other woman plucked one eyebrow, "Are you not the new cook? I can't imagine why someone like you would be standing in my home otherwise."

"Yes," Veronica’s raspy voice curled into a growl as she reigned in the annoyance she already felt for the woman standing before her, "I am the cook."

"Touchy touchy." That smirk reemerged, patronizing and setting Veronica’s sharp tongue on fire with snappish retorts she could not spit her way. "What's your name then, cook?"

"Lodge." she snarled through clenched teeth. "Veronica Lodge."

"Bond. James Bond." The other woman quipped, but that irritating smirk ruined any sort of hilarity in her teasing. When Veronica remained expressionless, she held out her hand, "I'm Cheryl Blossom. It's so… lovely to meet you, Veronica."

Veronica stared down at that ungodly pale hand for a moment. Had this woman - Cheryl – ever ventured outdoors? Had she ever seen the light of the sun? Her fingers were long and thin, nails clipped cleanly and rather short. Veronica searched for any sign of nervous nail biting or tiny cuts of skin around her cuticles, but she found nothing. The lack of humanness was off-putting, but Veronica did not have long to linger in that thought as that perfect hand wavered slightly.

She peeked up through dark lashes to see Cheryl’s brow knitting the slightest bit in confusion as Veronica had yet to meet her handshake. She contemplated leaving her hanging, desperate to see the affronted line of her mouth twist as she dropped her hand to her side and shook her head at Veronica’s lack of manners. But that fantasy was cut short as Veronica reluctantly lifted one hand to meet her proffered clasp in a bout of professionalism. A chill ran up her arm and rushed down her spine as she met Cheryl’s frigidly cold palm. She glanced back down at their hands to make sure she was indeed touching a human and not grasping an icicle.

"So awesome to meet you too, Cheryl." she ground out, quickly taking her hand back. Something akin to amusement sparked in Cheryl’s hazel orbs.

“Veronica Lodge," she repeated, as if tasting it on her tongue, "What a peculiar name." her eyes traced the teeth that were cautiously chewing Veronica’s bottom lip, and the brunette locks sitting on her head, tangled by the breeze on her journey to the mansion. “For someone of your status.”

Veronica did not even try to mask the roll of her eyes. The topic of her name had found its way through every mouth she had ever encountered; people constantly pointed out the old-timey sound of it. If Cheryl thought she was being clever, she was dead wrong.

“Cheryl Blossom, a pretty pompous, yet simultaneously boring name." She exaggerated her glance over Cheryl’s expensive attire and stiff back. "Completely fitting." 

Cheryl’s eyebrows shot up her forehead and Veronica couldn't help but allow herself a small grin at throwing Cheryl off her game of passive aggressive insults. But to Veronica’s disappointment, she quickly regained composure and even more upsettingly, that goddamn smirk.

"Oh, Veronica Lodge, I can show you just how completely riveting I can be."

It was Veronica’s turn to gape in surprise as her eyes widened and her mind raced over the possibilities of just what lurked under that vague promise. She opened her mouth to question Cheryl, but the confident click of heels in the distance distracted her words and Cheryl’s body grew tight at the noise. She cocked her head towards the sound before that haughty expression she had been wearing when she first stepped down the stairs slid back over her face. She turned to Veronica with what looked like an attempted smile, but appeared more as a cringe than anything else. "I'm afraid I have to cut this introduction short. Please excuse my abrupt departure." She spoke in a rushed tone that had Veronica raising a curious brow. "I'll see you around, cook."

And with that bid, Cheryl turned and made her way swiftly up the stairs. She was so quiet - a mere blur of expensive clothes - that if it were not for the chilly lingering touch on Veronica’s hand, she would assume she had imagined the entire encounter.

Shaking herself from her peering up the white staircase at the retreating round bum, Veronica turned around just in time to find the butler who had greeted her at the door and an elder woman making their way over to her. Wearing a long grey skirt and red blouse, the woman's relation to Cheryl was as clear as day with her sharp jawline and fiery locks. Yet her eyes were tighter and she was much less talented in masking her offense at the mere sight of Veronica by her turned up nose. Veronica sighed and willed herself to smile politely as the woman glided over.

“Ah, Miss… Lodge, is it?" The woman held her hand out limply and after a brief pause, Veronica reached out to shake the odd offer. The woman shot her a peculiar look and Veronica blushed as she realized that whatever she had done was wrong.

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded, trying to fight off the heat beneath her skin. "It's nice to meet you."

"My husband spoke to me about you," her eyes traveled across Veronica’s windswept hair. "Will you be serving guests in that… outfit, or do you have a uniform? We have one that may fit you if you do not."

"Oh, uh," Veronica thrusted one thumb to shift the attention to her backpack. "Yeah, I have one in here."

"Hmm," the woman pursed her lips and gave a short nod. "Lovely. Just be sure to iron any wrinkles. Smithers will be sure to show you the spare iron." The old butler gave a short nod behind her. "How long have you been cooking, Miss Lodge?"

"Please, call me Veronica," she smiled slightly, uncomfortable with the formality of her surname. "I've been cooking for as long as I can remember. My godfather, Pop, owned a small diner when I was a kid and he taught me everything he knew."

"My husband told me that you were looking for money to pay for your next semester of college. What is your major?"

"Culinary Arts," Veronica responded, twirling strands of hair around her finger in a nervous tick. "It'll be my fourth year."

Mrs. Blossom gave a satisfied hum. "You have the night off, Miss Lodge, but I expect breakfast on the table at nine in the morning." Veronica noted that in the back of her mind as the older woman turned to the butler. "Please escort Miss Lodge to her room, Smithers." She turned back to Veronica with a tight smile, "Feel free to go to him if you need anything."

She turned and walked briskly away without another word and Veronica was left feeling vaguely lost as she followed Smithers up the staircase Cheryl had so hastily disappeared up. Veronica peeked around the firmly shut row of white doors, white carpets, and blank white walls with squinting eyes. She felt a headache coming on. Smithers opened the last door in the corner of the house, opening it up and exposing the room of a simple queen sized bed and dresser. "Here you are, Miss Lodge."

"Please, call me Veronica." she parroted her earlier words as she took her backpack off and set it carefully on the ground.

"Miss Lodge," he repeated, but something amused lit up his blue eyes at her vaguely exasperated sigh. “The bathroom is five doors down on your right. This hallway is mostly empty, however the Blossom’s daughter stays right across the hall from you."

Realizing he most likely meant Cheryl unless they had another daughter lurking in the walls, Veronica sighed softly. Smithers smiled faintly at her frown. "I take it you have met Miss Cheryl? Not to worry, dear. She's rather quiet, if not a bit of a firecracker when need be." Veronica simply raised an eyebrow at that statement and he grabbed the doorknob, inching it closed as he said, "I'll retrieve the iron whenever you may need it. Have a good afternoon, Miss Lodge."

The door slipped shut before she could thank him and she perched herself on the edge of the bed, fearful to rustle the covers or create any wrinkles. She gazed around the empty room and peeked out the window to see nothing but miles of untouched grass and felt anxiety rise in her chest like a balloon threatening to pop. She would do anything to be on the comfy sofa of her apartment with Betty, her best friend and longtime roommate. They could be binge watching television shows and scarfing down Veronica’s gooey macaroni and cheese while crowing with laughter and discussing Betty’s newest painting. But instead she was here, alone and intensely uncomfortable, just like she was sure to be every day until she could finally escape. 

She already hated it.

"Shit."


	2. Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive feedback on the first chapter; it's incredibly encouraging! I didn't expect to finish the second chapter so quickly, but after reading your comments I couldn't stop writing. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Veronica hadn't slept a wink her first night at the Blossom mansion. Not only was she completely out the element and uncomfortable with the roaring silence without her neighbor's distant voices or the squeak of a bed to inform her there were indeed other living people in the building, but she was also nervous. Stuck up assholes or not, the Blossom's held her paycheck in the palm of their hands and she wanted to make a good first impression. She wanted them to like her food - she wanted them to take one tiny forkful of whatever she created and roll their eyes into the back of their heads as they moaned in delight. And Veronica was being generous with the idea of them reacting like normal human beings because honestly, she wasn't sure if they would ever stoop so low as to show pleasure in anything.

But that thought led Veronica to imagine one particular Blossom expressing pleasure. She only indulged in the image of pale cheeks warming pink and long red hair becoming messy with running fingers for a moment before she hurriedly banished that idea. Not only was Cheryl a total bitch, but that was entirely inappropriate in Veronica’s position. She couldn't risk even thinking things like that because those peering eyes would somehow see into her brain and kick her out before she could even stutter out an apology.

As the moon drifted and the sun set gentle purple rays into her window, Veronica rolled out of bed and chewed her bottom lip until it tingled uncomfortably. It had occurred to her at some point in the night that she had never met Mr. Blossom the day before, and though he sounded nice enough - if not a little vacant - when they had spoken over the phone about the job a week ago, she didn't have high expectations after meeting his family.

She shed her pajamas and stepped into her uniform with sleepily fumbling fingers and wiped the dry, tired feeling from her heavy eyes. She smoothed the wrinkles from the material and stepped outside to find the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, the hall was eerily quiet. She glanced down the row of closed doors and tried to guess which room Cheryl occupied, but it was impossible to tell in the still morning. Illuminated from the peaking sun, Veronica gently padded across the creaking oak flooring, walking as if treading across a thick patch of ice to keep from disrupting the silence.

She found the bathroom rather quickly and gawked at the golden knobs of the sink and shower. Everything was so clean that the room sparkled, the abrasive scent of bleach burning her nostrils. The granite tiled bath connected to a tall stall with many different shower heads pointing in a number of different directions that Veronica was going to have a hell of a time figuring out tonight. A wide mirror framed in winding gold sat above a long set of matching granite cabinets, with one lone green tooth brush sitting in a cup decorated in a black 'C'. It was the first sign of anything human and normal; Veronica couldn't believe how relieved she was to see a fucking toothbrush.

After relieving her bladder and washing her hands with a rich, maple scented soap, she resisted the urge to snoop through the drawers as she combed her fingers through her ebony locks and frowned at the dark circles bruising her chocolate eyes.

She exited the bathroom in search of the kitchen a moment later. This proved to be harder feat than she originally guessed as all the hallways looked the same. After turning in circles around many different floors and panicking for a moment, she stumbled upon the familiar downstairs foyer with a relieved sigh. She walked slowly through a large sitting area, with black leather sofas and a stacked bookcase of leather spines. A brick fireplace caught Veronica’s attention as she spotted one framed picture on the  
mantle. Curiosity got the better of her and she found herself taking a small detour over a soft rug before perching herself on her tiptoes to study the picture and instantly recognized the girl in the photo; Cheryl Blossom.

She looked a few years younger than she had the day before with a slightly less defined jaw and her hair high in a ponytail. She was still annoying well-dressed however, her white dress ironed of creases and hanging loosely around her growing body. She was holding one bony wrist with a small hand, her legs pressed tightly together and her mouth unsmiling even in the peak of her youth. It embodied the complete opposite of Veronica’s own childhood. Where Veronica had shoved her way to the front of the every photo her friends took, her smile large and her eyes crinkled with captured laughter, Cheryl stood rigid as if the mere idea of a camera made her angry. The redhead's face was stony and her outfit looked as if an old business woman had chosen it; she looked so serious.

Her stomach churning with sadness she didn't understand, Veronica shook herself and walked away, passing through the dining room of crystal chandeliers and an unnecessarily long table. She pushed through swinging door and a gasp escaped her throat as she found the kitchen. With miles of stainless steel, hanging pots and pans, and rows of appliance filled cabinets, it was by far the nicest kitchen she had ever stepped foot in. She scanned over the cabinet top and found a small list of preferred food of the family presumably created by their regular chef as she trailed her fingers across the cool stove and felt her desire to cook expand, nagging in her heart insistently.

Cooking was her passion. She woke up every day excited to create mouthwatering aromas and succulent dishes. She lived for the dropped jaws of friends and family when she presented their dinner, and loved their shoulder-slumping, moaning reactions at the first taste even more.

When her father, Hiram, was incarcerated, she went through a spiral of resentment for her number one hobby. He had always been standing over her shoulder, directing the right amount of spices into bubbling soups and showing her how to properly beat an egg. Cooking had been a bonding experience between the two of them; the only time he ever smiled. But now every glance at the oven reminded her of her mother's soft sobs as he was taken away in handcuffs. Every whiff of baking cookies made her remember the regret in his eyes when he had been ushered out their door, never to return. He had left them with nothing and Veronica watched her mother scramble for money to keep a house over their heads, coming home late and exhausted, skipping meals to sleep and apologizing profusely for not giving her daughter a proper home cooked meal. It only took two years for Veronica’s jaw to set with determination and at thirteen, she decided she would have dinner sitting on the table for her poor, overworked mom every night.

Her godfather, Pop Tate, taught her everything he knew about cooking. He became a hero to her, and with every gentle thank you from her mother, and genuine appraisal from her friends, Veronica came to the gradual conclusion that she couldn't let her father's memory ruin what brought her happiness. She experimented with new ideas and as time went on and she grew older, her talent grew. It was then she realized that she didn't need her father; she was better off without that criminal. And so was her mom.

Veronica grinned widely at the warbled reflection of her own face in the stove and rubbed her hands greedily as she searched the kitchen for ingredients that would hopefully satisfy the hoity-toity palettes of the Blossom family. She heard distant footsteps just as she was setting the final dish on the table in the dining room, checking over the presentation one last time. Her heart skipped an anxious beat as she straightened and wondered if she should hide in the kitchen until called out to discuss the meal of toasted hash browns, sunny yellow omelettes, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes. It wasn't the most expansive show of her talents, but it was simple and greatly loved by her friends and family. She just prayed the same was meant for her employers.

Clutching the bottom of her uniform, she gripped the white material as the steps grew closer. It was Smithers who walked through the door, dressed in a smart suit and walking with a sleepy shuffle.

"Oh, Miss Lodge," he tutted, catching sight of the plates stacked in breakfast food. "It is my job to present the meals. You only have the make the food, dear. You don't have to do any of the mundane tasks."

"Oh." Heat burned beneath Veronica’s cheeks as she ducked her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I've never been trained on how to deal with a situation like this. Any course I've taken about presenting dishes was more focused on restaurants and dinner parties."

"Not to worry, Miss Lodge. It's your first day and at lunch, you'll know how to approach it." His smile was gentle as he eyed her abashed expression and something warm trickled into her chest at the sight of his blue gaze. "This is, after all, a learning experience. Is it not?"

A faint smile tugged at Veronica’s lips as she lifted her head with a bit more confidence as she agreed, “You're right." She took a deep breath and added, “Thank you."

His slightly bushy white brows knitted as a smile pulled at his thin lips, but as he parted them to speak he suddenly paused. Tilting his head to the right, he reminded Veronica of a curious dog as he announced, "Ah, Miss Cheryl is up. Please excuse me, Miss Lodge."

Dumbfounded as she had not heard any signs of someone approaching, Veronica simply blinked as he disappeared around the corner.

"Good morning, Miss Cheryl. I trust you slept well." she heard him greet. Cheryl’s reply was so soft spoken that Veronica had to strain her ears to hear the faint, "Hello, Smithers."

She appeared at the threshold a moment later and Veronica felt lightning shock rush through her chest. Cheryl’s feet were fucking soundproof. Her head was bowed, her hands held stiffly at her sides. She was already dressed in an elegant black dress. Her hair held no sign of bedhead, brushed neatly to one side and falling over her shoulder. Veronica had not expected to see her in pajamas, but she couldn't help but wonder what they might look like - a pantsuit, perhaps? She honestly wouldn't put it past her. She watched Cheryl smooth her palms over her already wrinkle-free dress in silence before dark eyes lifted and met her own. Her pale, sharply angled face was smooth as if she had been up for hours. Not one sign of the morning lingered in her eyes and her mouth was held tightly instead of slacking with sleep.

For a moment, the memory of the terrible attitude that lurked in that attractive frame disappeared. Veronica clutched to naivety, admiring the swell of Cheryl’s breasts beneath her tight clothing before the reality crashed back down as she met that annoying smirk she hoped not to familiarize herself with over the next month.

"Oh. Veronica Lodge."

Veronica raised an eyebrow; did that even constitute as a greeting? "Cheryl." she responded with a vague nod.

"You've cooked." Her eyes grazed over the full table. "What do you call this assortment? 'An Ode to Minimum Effort'?"

That arrogant attitude left Veronica mourning the lost potential of such a stunning physique. Cheryl’s bad personality tarnished the image of soft lips and round thighs. It was a true shame. But she would not let Cheryl get under her skin and instead of hurling an angry retort, she snarked, "If you find it boring then it should be right up your alley."

The same look of vague surprise from the day before lifted Cheryl’s brows at Veronica’s quick comeback, but vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "Let's have a taste and see if anything of yours is indeed… up my alley."

As Veronica tried to pick apart those words, Cheryl soundlessly pulled back a chair and settled herself into the seat with a straight back. She grabbed a knife and fork between her hands and poised her brows towards Veronica expectantly. She stared back, clueless to what that look meant. The redhead released a soft sigh, dusted in exasperation as she motioned towards the plates with her knife.

"Honestly, were you raised in a barn?" She shook her head as if deeply appalled. “Show some manners, Veronica Lodge. Dish out your creation for me."

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "You want me to serve you?"

The corners of Cheryl’s full lips turned down the faintest bit, "You really were raised in a barn, weren't you? I can't possibly dish my own meal, Veronica Lodge. That wouldn't be proper."

Brows lowering dubiously, she questioned, "It wouldn't?"

If Cheryl were a different type of person, Veronica was sure her eyes would've rolled at her confusion, but the slight slump of her shoulders somehow had the same effect. “Of course it wouldn't."

"But isn't it, like… improper or whatever to eat before your mom and dad come down?" Veronica cocked her head to the side, genuinely curious. They were like aliens to her; they came from such different backgrounds. She felt as if she had been thrown into a new realm.

Cheryl’s shoulders grew noticeably tighter. "No." she answered simply. "Now if you'd please…" She dropped her eyes to her empty plate before looking back at Veronica through long lashes.

Nearly positive she was being tricked, Veronica grabbed utensils to scoop up one omelet and drop it unceremoniously onto Cheryl’s plate, a small twitch of amusement tugging at her lips at the taller woman’s frown. She grabbed two pieces of bacon, a hash brown, and one pancake before dropping the silver back onto the table and quirking a brow. "Would you like maple syrup, oh great one?"

Cheryl’s lips curled into something close to a smile. "Am I not a Blossom, cook?"

Begrudging amusement bubbled in Veronica’s stomach, but she simply nodded straight-faced and grabbed the bottle to dose the pancake in a thick layer of gooey sugar. "Bon appetit." she muttered sarcastically.

Setting the bottle back down, they stared into each others eyes, a challenge lurking in the tense air between them. It was if one long string attached their eyes, forcing them to gaze at each other and daring one of them to be the first to look away. And Veronica would be damned if she was going to lose this competition. She maintained eye contact, her eyebrows raised in rebellion as Cheryl forced the prongs of her fork into the bacon. It crackled and broke beneath the small force, leaving a small chunk at the end of her fork and she lifted it with a dainty hold to her lips. She took in a deep breath through her nose, her brow quirking the slightest bit as she caught a whiff of the meat before slipping it into her mouth. Veronica resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her theatrics.

But then she began to panic. What if Cheryl really did not enjoy her cooking? She would run to her father and the brunette would lose her job before she even had it. A cluster of anxious butterflies gathered in the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to stand still and keep her face blank, watching ever tiny bite Cheryl consumed. Her angular jaw moved to the slow chew of her teeth and Veronica tried to focus on the up and down motion instead of the worry knotting in her gut.

The sound of heels clacking against the marble floor accompanied by flat, heavy steps broke Cheryl from her staring spell. Pausing mid-chew, she lost their staring contest as she glanced over shoulder at the open area of the dining room opening, squinting slightly while her throat jumped as she swallowed the remainder of food in her mouth. Her entire demeanor changed as the familiar face of her mother appeared, accompanied by a tall, authoritative man. He wore a smart burgundy shirt underneath his gray business suit. His jaw was tense, his face lightly wrinkled, but his eyes were crinkled into a smile as he caught sight of Veronica standing at the end of the table.

"Ah!" Veronica resisted a bewildered flinch as she recognized the voice that had pierced her ear drum over the phone a week ago. "You must be Miss Veronica Lodge!"

"Yes, sir," she nodded with a polite smile as she held her hand out, "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise, likewise," he agreed with an exuberant shake to her arm, shaking it so viciously she feared her arm would snap right off.

Veronica heart stuttered nervously in her chest as he pulled back a seat and sat down after watching his wife sit quietly beside Cheryl, who hadn't looked up from her plate since the arrival of her parents. Hurriedly placing food on their plates, she stood back and watched them take their first bites of her cuisine. Her hands were wringing nervously against her thighs as they cut their pancakes into tiny triangles and their bacon in small, easy proportions. It was driving her insane; she just wanted them to fucking eat and take away her anxiety. When they finally took their first bite, Veronica was unsurprised to see that Mrs. Blossom barely reacted, keeping her shoulders tight and her jaw stiff as she chewed. Mr. Blossom, though reserved, dropped his fist on the table and Veronica saw Cheryl flinch out of the corner of her eye.

“Delicious!" he proclaimed loudly. Veronica’s smile stretched wide across her face as relief flooded her system.

“Thank you, sir." She stood in the corner as she waited for them to finish, taking this moment of silence to observe these strangers. Mr. Blossom proved to be vastly different from his family on first impression. He chewed with low hums of approval while Mrs. Blossom sat in rigid silence. Cheryl barely touched her food, only taking the occasional bite every so often, her eyes trained on the table. It was like she was a different person; so opposite from the confident person Veronica had come to acquaint herself with over the past few hours. She thought back to the day before and how hastily Cheryl had disappeared before her mother came to introduce herself to Veronica, and how quickly she had drifted into some sort of odd shell right before her parents appeared in the dining room.

To Veronica, there was clearly something deeper happening; something she didn't understand. But she wasn't going to pry no matter how curious she was. Besides, maybe that was how all kin of the rich acted. Veronica really didn't know – she had never met anyone rich before yesterday. She waited until the elders of the family finished their food in silence and Mr. Blossom bid her a good day before relaxing her shoulders.

“It was passable, though the bacon was a tad burnt." Cheryl commented in their privacy, standing from her own seat. There was no implication of the frozen statue she had become at the sight of her parents as her lips twitched and Veronica scowled. "Best be careful next time, cook."

Her jaw clenched furiously while Cheryl stood with a small dab of the napkin on her lips before discarding it to the dirty, nearly untouched plate. With one last smirk Veronica’s way, she glided around the corner and disappeared on light feet.

Veronica wondered how quickly she would be fired if she told her bosses daughter to go fuck herself.


	3. A Phone Call with Betty

The bright, calm hours between lunch and dinner of her second day, Veronica explored the vast outdoors.

With her cell phone in hand to alert her the time, she escaped the silence of the gray building with a sigh of relief as wind whistled in her ears and replaced the continuous roar that she could not get used to. The gentle scent of flowers lingered in her nose and exploded in her chest, dousing her with a peace she had not felt since the moment she stepped on these grounds. The sun was golden and warm in the clear blue sky, but there was no sound of screeching children in the distance to define the familiar summer day. Even the outdoors - where things were the most familiar and normal - of this godforsaken house were wrong; different… uncomfortable, almost.

Exasperated, Veronica shook her head to herself and circled around the side of the house slowly. Her hair dancing in the heated breeze as she fixed her sleeves so they rolled over her shoulders, desperate to tan the skin there that covered the faint muscles she was rather proud of. Birds chirped somewhere above her, lost in the abyss of their home in the trees, and she kicked the groomed grass with the toe of her shoe.

Turning the corner, a gasp escaped her as she spotted a pool of crystal blue water in their large backyard. A long pathway led the patio to the sparkling metal ladder as the water rippled in the wind and sparkled like diamonds beneath the sun rays. She took in a deep breath to smell the chlorine as she approached the teardrop shaped hole in the ground, her feet sliding against the slick granite.

She peered down the length of the pool, admiring the trimmed hedges lining the area and one lone wooden bench in the short distance. She tried to imagine the Blossom’s spending time out here, watching a child version of Cheryl splash and giggle. She tried to see their hands lock together as they watched their daughter with affectionate grins as she cried out for Mr. Blossom to throw her in the water. But she couldn't.

Instead, the memory of visiting the local pool with her mom slipped into her mind. They would go early into the afternoon and stay until it grew dark. Veronica could remember the exhausted weight of her tiny body after hours of jumping into the pool as if she were an amateur Olympian as her belly rumbled with insatiable hunger and pruned fingers shoved soggy chips into her mouth. She remembered the way the lights inside the pool lit up her small feet at night, and the way her mother's arms felt; holding her close and secure. She had felt so protected with her cheek pressed against her the soft swell of her mother's chest, giggling to ridiculous tales she would create for Veronica’s amusement. Her father never came along, and now she was glad he did not taint that cherished moment of history.

Lost in her memories, Veronica flinched as the phone in her hand began to vibrate. Reacting quickly, she took one glance at the name lighting up her screen and grinned as she lifted the phone to her ear. "Betty!"

"V!" The enthusiastic voice of her best friend sent a warm and comforting feeling in her chest.

“B, you have no idea how awesome it is to hear your voice," Veronica gushed, "Or to hear any voice with emotion in it at all."

Betty’s sweet laughter circulated from the other line, "What does that mean? Are the… what was it, again?"

"Blossom’s." Veronica filled in, absentmindedly.

"Right, them. Are they robots or something?" Betty teased, but Veronica actually contemplated the truth behind those words for a moment.

"They might as well be," she concluded quietly, eyeing the bare grounds for any member of the family. "It's huge here, B. I'm in a fucking mansion. It's so quiet I can hear my own breathing, but I never hear any other people doing anything. And the woman, Mrs. Blossom, looks at me like I'm a piece of shit every time I'm around. And don't even get me started on their daughter."

"Oh, they have a little brat?" the blonde joked as something rustled in the background.

"She's little and she's definitely a fucking brat, but now how you mean." Veronica ran a hand through her hair as she felt sweat collect at her hairline. "I think she's our age. She's the most arrogant motherfucker I've ever met. I don't think she's called me by my first name once since I got here."

"What's she call you?"

"Veronica Lodge," Veronica lowered her voice to Cheryl’s low drawl, "Or 'cook'. Like, she says it in a way that's, like… she's mocking me. She barley eats my food, but always finds something to critique. And she has this fucking smirk on her face that makes me want to rip her hair out." she ranted, waving her free hand in the air as she stomped the ground with one childish kick.

"She sounds terrible," Betty placated and the brunette nodded aggressively against her phone. "What's she look like? I'm imagining like... long, puffy dresses and hair in an old-timey up-do. You know? Like all curled and wearing powder make up."

Veronica’s shoulders slumped as she sighed, "She definitely looks nothing like that."

On the other line, Betty gasped, "Oh, I get it! She's hot! That's why you're so bothered by her!" Veronica said nothing in response, glowering at the innocent branches of the trees.

“I'm right, aren't I? She's a babe?" Betty gave a bark of laughter that echoed in Veronica’s brain. "She's a total babe, isn't she? Go on, V. What's she look like?"

"She's… she's not that great looking." Veronica muttered, her bottom lip forming an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, whatever, Ronnie. I can hear it in your voice." Betty encouraged in heavy amusement. "Tell me."

"Cheryl is-" Veronica searched the sky for the appropriate word for the way Cheryl’s impossibly sharp jaw dipped into her gently arched neck. "She’s fucking… annoyingly attractive. She wears all these really classy dresses and shirts and blazers. Her hair is always perfect. And if you could see her cheekbones, I swear to god, Betty… you would leave Jughead. She could turn anyone.” she grumbled.

"Cheryl? That’s a nice name. Though I’m sure I’ll grow tired of it when you’re waking me up in the middle of the night by screaming it.” Betty teased her flatmate.

"No. No, you wont grow tired of it, because the moment I'm out of here I’m never seeing her again - we're never talking about her again." Veronica responded sternly. "She's probably the most attractive person I've ever seen, but her bad personality ruins it. It pisses me off. It's like, a crying shame."

Betty cackled in delight as she teased, "Next time she's being rude, just jump on her. Just make out with her until she shuts up."

"Yeah, right. I doubt she's had a gay thought in her entire life." Veronica scoffed.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because being gay isn't perfect. Cheryl probably has to shower every time anything remotely imperfect taints her glamorous life," the short woman rolled her eyes with a scoff. "They're so old fashioned. I mean, they have a goddamn butler. I bet she has, like… an arranged marriage or something. They're ridiculous."

"V, c'mon. You don't know anything about her. Be nice." Betty chided. "Topics like this might be totally out of line with a family like that. From what you've said, they come from a totally different place. You could lose your job just saying stuff like that, couldn't you?"

Veronica dropped her chin to her chest, shame-faced. Betty was her conscience; always there to tell her when she was being wrong or cruel. And though she appreciated it most of the time as it had kept her from doing many regretful things in the past, she really just wanted to babble all the thoughts she had accumulated in full arms over the past few days.

"You haven't called her a bitch to her face have you?" her friend questioned worriedly.

"No, of course not," Veronica shook her head.

"Good." Betty sighed on the other line, eliciting choppy static. "Keep it that way. This is a great thing to put on your resume, V. If you do this right, you're guaranteed a job."

"I know, I know. You're right. I just hate it here." Veronica mumbled, staring out into the green field. "But let's stop talking about this. It's bringing me down. Tell me about your summer’s going." An hour later - after her ear had been properly chatted off about a summer course in journalism that Betty was taking while Jughead was on his annual road trip with Archie - Veronica made her way back inside to prepare for dinner.

She slipped inside and brushed her feet on the mat before walking quietly up the stairs to her room. But as she turned the corner of the now slightly familiar hallway, soft and quick voices stopped her. It was the first time she had happened upon other humans when not in the kitchen, and she froze as she searched for an idea of how to react. Standing still behind the cover of the wall, she strained her ears. After a few beats of incomprehensible murmurs, she recognized the voices of Cheryl and Mrs. Blossom as they tossed back and forth hushed words.

"-don't want to," she heard Cheryl’s voice whisper.

"You will," Mrs. Blossom’s reply was tight and angry. "You have no choice."

Cheryl’s response was so hurriedly spoken that Veronica only caught bits and pieces that peaked her interest, "Do have a choice… twenty one years old… decide for myself…"

"You are not, Cheryl!" Mrs. Blossom’s voice rose slightly and Veronica suddenly felt as if she should be anywhere but on that side of the house; she was an intruder and a bit like a gross Peeping Tom. "End of discussion!"

"Mother-"  
"Don't you dare talk back to me, Cheryl! I said end of discussion!" The sound of approaching heels spiked panic in Veronica’s gut as she hurriedly began to walk as if she had only just arrived in the building. Mrs. Blossom rounded the corner, her jaw set and her cheeks a light pink, but as she caught sight of Veronica, she grew even more rigid. Her nose turned up in a familiar look of distaste and she greeted stiffly, "Oh, hello, Miss Lodge."

"Hello, Mrs. Blossom," Veronica nodded politely, watching the elder woman brisk past her before strolling casually around the corner. Cheryl stood outside of her bedroom door, directly across from Veronica’s own, and making it impossible to not pass directly by. Her shoulders were drawn in, her own cheeks splotchy with what the brunette could only assume was rage. She was staring at the floor with something lurking in her eyes, seemingly unaware of Veronica’s presence.

Uncomfortable, Veronica heavied her foot steps to a normal stride instead of her eggshell tiptoe, and after a moment, Cheryl looked up. She caught Veronica’s stare with a fiery look in her eyes, her jaw tightening as she walked slowly by. Uncharacteristically, Cheryl did not say a word. She simply stared - almost glared - as Veronica stepped up to her door. But when her hand touched the golden doorknob, the taller woman suddenly blinked as if waking from a daze. But instead of sending a passive aggressive insult Veronica’s way, she stepped back into the shadows of her room and shut the door soundlessly behind herself.

Flinching as if Cheryl had slammed the door, Veronica closed her own as she wondered just what in the hell she witnessed, but pleased that she had seen it. At least now she had solid proof that they were real humans with emotions instead of the robots she had been contemplating they were only an hour before.


	4. A Sunny Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind feedback on this fic! I'm enjoying writing it so much and I am thrilled that many of you are enjoying seeing this story unfold just as well. I planned on posting this chapter tomorrow as I have already posted a chapter today, however I seem to be writing so often and so quickly that there will probably be a new chapter to post tomorrow anyway (I should probably be concentrating a little more of my time on applying to universities right now, but I suppose my procrastonation is at least benefiting you guys - haha!). 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this. Just a heads up: the rating on this story is probably going to change to mature - perhaps even explicit - very soon. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd advise you not to read any further, as the next chapter will contain some more mature content :)

The sun kissed Veronica’s shoulders gently, radiating just enough heat to trace her skin with a warm shiver and ease the tension in her bones. She walked around the house to the pool, which was quickly becoming her favorite part of the mansion’s grounds with it's calming atmosphere and sparkling water.

Her fingers ached from the grip she had held on the knife as she cut up fresh vegetables for lunch, and a small patch of angry, red skin marred her palm from burning herself on the skillet while making breakfast. There had been no sign of Cheryl’s earlier intense, albeit quiet outburst with her mother at dinner the night before. She had sat at her usual seat, her back straight and her face blank as she picked at Veronica’s food. Like every night, she only spoke when spoken to, her voice soft and her replies short. There was seemingly no tension between to two Blossom women, but Veronica couldn't help but wonder if the tension was always present and thick in the air, disguising the grudge of their fight as forgotten even though it was anything but.

After dinner, Cheryl had disappeared without her normal snarky comment about dry toast or burnt meat to Veronica. She didn't come down for breakfast the next morning, and Veronica didn't see her at lunch either. Something had clearly bothered the arrogant redhead, and despite disliking her, Veronica’s prying curiosity was eating her alive.

Desperate to shake off the questions that were slowly killing her, she rounded the corner to the peaceful pool. The heels of her boots dug in the soft grass and she stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of a small figure sitting on the bench below the hanging trees. She squinted past the sun, and as the orange hues were shaded with her hooded eyelids, she immediately recognized the figure as Cheryl.

Sitting with her back straight and one leg crossed over the other, Cheryl’s nose was buried deep into the crevice of a heavy novel. She wasn't wearing her usual attire of a blouse or dress for once, but instead an expensive looking cashmere sweater; it hung loosely from her frail shoulders, and even from her distance, Veronica could see the beginnings of impossibly sharp collarbones. Her long, thin fingers gripped the book as the wind picked up her hair, tickling the swell of one cheekbone as her tongue poked out to wet her pouty bottom lip.

Veronica’s body wracked with a shiver.

She had the reputation of being a love addict. Alongside her steady list of past partners, she also had a countless amount of strangers whom she claimed to have loved. She had a heart that gave itself away too easily to people that, in retrospect, probably did not deserve it: women typing on their laptops in Pop’s diner, women walking their dogs in the early morning... even a woman cleaning the toilets in a public bathroom had temporarily stolen her heart. She knew it was ridiculous; she would be the first to attest to that, but she had no control over it.

She would see a woman and feel that familiar flutter in heart and suddenly she was at the receiving end of rolling eyes and scoffs from her friends and family. And maybe she had not loved those women in the past (despite her fervent shouts to dispel that exact notion); maybe she had done what her mother suggested many times before and confused lust with love. Maybe – she wasn't sure. But she knew one thing: if it were not for that twisted mouth and turned up nose, Cheryl Blossom would be the newest addition to her list of heartthrobs.

Because goddamn, this woman was beautiful. She would be the absolute perfect package of beauty and intelligence if her heart was kind and adorned even a smidgen of humility. Veronica would be groveling on hands and knees for her attention. She would be humiliating herself as she flailed to woo her and chase her with a desperation that would cause rough cries to expel from her throat when she was shot down.

She took a moment to imagine how inappropriate that would be in her position as well as how quickly Cheryl would reject her, and pursed her lips. Perhaps the Blossom daughter’s bad attitude was a blessing after all. She stood still for a moment, admiring the line of Cheryl’s jaw while it was not moving to annoying words. Her eyes painted thick attraction to the plump lip captured between white teeth, the soft curl of her hair, and the gentle arch of her bent neck. Her body responded in the worst way to Cheryl when she was silent; her stomach exploded in butterflies that fluttered up her chest and lodged a knot in her throat while fire burned between her legs as her mind went rampant with images of what that slight body might look like completely bare: pale skin without a speck of blemishes, waist curvy in a way her dresses concealed, breasts full and  
perky-

"Veronica Lodge," Veronica’s heart jumped and shock sparked electricity down her spine as Cheryl spoke over the wind without looking up from her book. “Are you going to sit down or are you going to continue to lurk in the shadows like an antagonist in a horror film?"

Embarrassment squeezed at Veronica’s lungs as she stammered, "I- uh, I-"

"Perhaps I should alert father that we might have a murderer in our home," Cheryl looked up from her book for the first time, a small smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. "A murderer with a particular fascination with myself." Stepping out of her not-so-incognito spot and regaining her composure, the brunette made the short distance to the pool and plopped down on the granite tiles with a roll of her eyes, taking Cheryl’s earlier question as an invitation to join her.

“I didn't recognize you without a stiffly ironed blouse on. I thought maybe you had a nicer clone or twin I hadn't been introduced to." She looked Cheryl up and down and shook her head, "It's unfortunate that's not the case."

A small noise that sounded almost like a laugh escaped Cheryl’s throat. "And why is that unfortunate, cook?" Her hazel eyes were bright with something that made Veronica slightly uncomfortable as she closed her book and used her thumb as a placeholder between the pages. "What would you have done with my kind clone?"

"I might've had a conversation with your face that didn't end in wanting to harm it." Veronica grumbled swiftly.

"The same face you were watching so intently not five minutes ago?" Cheryl countered smugly. "It didn't seem as if you wanted to harm it then."

Responding with a scoff and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Veronica stayed silent. Her mind was blank with a comeback that wouldn't drag her attraction to the forefront of the conversation any more than it subtly was. But with how casually Cheryl mentioned it, Veronica didn't have a doubt in her mind that she was, unsurprisingly, not the first to gawk at her like a fool.

“Besides,” Cheryl started, the wind picking up her hair, brushing meticulously combed strands to catch on her lashes as her eyes fluttered closed at the warm breeze. “I had a twin. My brother, Jason.”

The scent of growing flowers drifted through the wind and Cheryl had clearly taken a notice as she took in a deep breath and held it in her chest. Veronica looked down to the stars of sunlight glinting in the rippling pool to avoiding staring yet again.

“Is he the other man in your family portrait?” Veronica enquired, not picking up on Cheryl’s use of past tense. When she received no response, the brunette dipped her fingertips in the water, swimming the liquid between her fingers in rapid speed to make the thin fluid feel like jelly wedged between her bones and slosh loudly. 

"I noticed you haven't been down for any meals today." Veronica spoke up as conversationally as possible and not at all curious. Cheryl quirked a brow and she peeked her eyes open.

“I've been drinking Darjeeling tea," she motioned to a white cup settled near her polished beige shoes that Veronica hadn't noticed before with a flick of her hand.

"You made your own tea?" Veronica questioned disbelievingly.

"No, Smithers brewed it for me." Cheryl responded before adding sarcastically, "Though, shockingly, I am capable of accomplishing every day human necessities."

"I don't think fancy tea is a human necessity." Veronica wrinkled her nose in disagreement. Her own tongue cringed at the idea of such a earthy, sweet, hot liquid exploding on its taste buds.

Cheryl’s second brow raised to meet its high twin on her forehead. "Of course it is, Veronica Lodge. Don't be ridiculous."

Veronica released the shortest scoff of amusement, not allowing herself to give Cheryl the pleasure of knowing she found her even the tiniest bit funny. “Tea is disgusting."

Cheryl’s face scrunched up in the most obvious show of emotion Veronica had witnessed since arriving at Thornhill manor as she shook her head slowly, "Oh, Veronica Lodge. You misguided soul. I don't have the time to inform you how of wrong you are."

Veronica rolled her eyes for the millionth time and waved to the taller girl’s book as she splashed the lukewarm pool water between her fingers. "What're you reading?"

Cheryl clutched her book the smallest bit tighter between her fingers. "You're interested?"

The brunette shrugged, "I'm bored. I have been every day. Do you guys own a television?"

“I have one in my room, yes." Cheryl gave a short nod.

"Well, I've been going insane with boredom. I didn't bring anything with me to entertain myself because I assumed there would be normal things in your house. I should've at least brought my keyboard." Veronica lamented mostly to herself than to Cheryl with a heavy sigh.

"You play the keyboard?" Cheryl questioned with a small cock of her head.

“Yeah." Veronica nodded the affirmative. "Why? Do you?"

"Oh, of course not," Cheryl waved that idea off as if it were unfathomable. “We do have a grand piano here though. I had lessons as a child and still play from time to time."

"I had lessons to learn the piano as a kid too," Veronica informed her, shocked that they had something in common. "Do you have one here? We could have a piano-off one day. I bet I could wipe the floor with you." Veronica suggested the idea in a burst of excitement to one up the other woman. She imagined Cheryl’s quick, nimble fingers dancing across the keys as she followed the music with rampantly attentive eyes; another shiver rushed down her spine at the picture of Cheryl moving so studiously and passionately. But Cheryl shook her head with a stiff lip.

“No, I don't believe that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Veronica was all but pouting, her brow wrinkled in displeasure.

Cheryl shot her a deadly look of something akin to annoyance. "It's not happening, cook. So you might as well stop speaking about it now."

Aggravated, Veronica crossed her arms over her chest with a tight jaw. “Whatever." she mumbled like a child, her wet fingers drying on her loose shirt. They sat in silence for a moment with Veronica’s boredom reemerging and growing in her chest like a tight balloon until she was forced to speak up to quell the anxious feeling. “So, that book? What's it called?"

"Lodge," Cheryl stood from her spot on the bench and reached down to grab her tea as she tucked her book beneath her arm. Her full lips wrapped around the brim in a chaste kiss as she sucked down the warm liquid. "The title was bold and clear this entire conversation. If you have to ask, I doubt you could possibly find the intelligence to actually read the words inside."

Veronica gaped, her jaw dropped the slightest bit in offense as the redhead walked around the pool to pass her with that damnable smirk.

“See you at dinner, cook. I expect the most lavish meal as I've not eaten today." She glanced down at Veronica’s burnt palm for a moment, her smirk stretching wide as the shorter girl subconsciously curled her fingers to hide the injured patch of skin. "I have a severe lack of faith in your ability to reach my requirements."

Veronica’s jaw snapped shut with a clink of her teeth, tightening in familiar anger. "As if you'd know. You barely touch the food on your plate." she spat.

Cheryl’s smirk only widened. "You've just proven my point." she replied with a lift of her nose before her feet padded lightly across the granite.

Veronica craned her neck to watch Cheryl walk away, her gaze dropping to the tight material of her trousers stretching over her full thighs and, Veronica noted with a silent groan, fucking amazing ass. Plump and shaped perfectly round, it had Veronica hypnotized with every step Cheryl took.

When the other woman disappeared around the corner, Veronica dropped her forehead to her knees as she tried to convince herself that Cheryl’s quick wit and sharp tongue did not turn her on when it was being shot with insults her way. But as she shifted her legs to lie more comfortably on the ground, she felt her underwear cling damply to her core and swallowed thickly.

"Fuck."


	5. Sex Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddddd the rating has changed! Enjoy!

Veronica awoke slowly from dreams of sweaty bodies arching together in a hurried dance of undulating hips and roaming hands. The images her brain had concocted to entertain her while asleep were blurry and fleeting, as if she had watched them on an old television without fixing the antenna.

In her gradually growing conscious state, she still felt the desperation in her dream; her toes had curled as she bucked against a strong, round thigh, gripping the shapely waist and flat plane of a stomach glazed in sweat between tight fingers. Her entire body had felt tense with anticipation as pleasure exploded between her legs and extended to her arching neck. Her voice had been breathless as she begged for the woman to thrust faster, rub against her harder, to take her until she was numb and exhausted.

Hovering between reality and cloudy dreams, her hips rolled against the mattress to tip her over the edge, still positive that the contact against her aching center was another woman. When she met her clothed crotch to the unsatisfying pressure of the bedding, her eyes peeked open in dazed confusion. She rolled over onto her back and glanced around the room, wincing as the bright morning sun sent sharp knives through her tired corneas. Recognizing the bland room of her opened dresser drawers and tangled sheets around her subconsciously spread legs, she groaned lowly in disappointment.

Those dreams had been occurring quite often over the past week and half. They varied from intense, quick touches on bare mattresses to slow and teasing drags of fingertips across goose bumped skin and disturbingly familiar smirking lips on tiled floors. There was nothing sweet or romantic about the way she moved with this dream woman. They went at it like animals in documentaries she watched in high school science class, fueled by nothing but unadulterated need. It was nothing like what Veronica enjoyed in real life – long candlelight dinners, finding the thrill in holding hands, and shy first kisses. It was as if someone else had taken over her dreams and injected their idea of a perfect sexual relationship and despite everything, she found it somewhat alluring.

They were driving her crazy as they plagued her mind with every blink of her eyelids, building her up until she awoke with her rapid heartbeat radiating to her wet center. She didn't dare finish herself off, however. She doubted these walls had seen anything remotely sexual since Cheryl was conceived, as the Blossom’s probably brushed off any tingle of desire with drops of expensive wine on their tongues or cold showers to their heated skin. She was far too worried that the catch of her breath or the slick sound of her fingers working between her thighs would be too noisy in these silent walls, catching Cheryl’s attention and giving her something else to mock the brunette about.

Her entire body was thrumming as she slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The material of her soft shirt brushed against the tight buds of her nipples and the drenched crotch of her underwear felt tight against her aching core. She groaned lowly and dropped her head onto her knees as she fought off her arousal and damned her brain for bringing her to this state.

Rolling out of bed, she ignored the ache between her thighs as she collected her uniform and toiletry bag with sleepy stumbles towards the door. She ran an absentminded hand through her bedhead, halfheartedly taming the wavy locks as she twisted the knob and stepped into the hallway.

Unlike every morning thus far, she was not greeted by an empty hall, but a short woman approaching Cheryl’s door. Her short, curly dark hair was pushed back by a headband, decorated with cat ears. Her expensive looking black dress was stitched in at waist, accentuating her slim figure. She quirked her brows upon noticing Veronica at the end of the hall. Brown eyes sussed out her disheveled appearance as thin hands smoothed the wrinkles of her short dress. She was cute and Veronica immediately wished she had made herself presentable before leaving the safety of her room. She combed her fingers through her hair nervously as she stepped closer to the woman and clutched her belongings tightly to her chest with her other hand.

"Who are you?" the woman questioned through thin lips as they met in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm, uh… Veronica." Veronica responded, husky voice coated in sleep. The woman cocked her head as recognition wiped the confusion from her face.

“Lodge? Oh, you're the new cook!" Her eyes drifted down Veronica's body with a nod of understanding. "You're the one with the n-"

"Josie?" Cheryl appeared before her door and Veronica was not surprised that she hadn't heard her open it. "I thought I heard your voice."

The sun was barely out and yet Cheryl looked as if she had been awake for hours. Not a single hair was out of place and her eyes were bright and alert. She was already dressed in a red fitted shirt and black mini skirt.

"Hello, Cheryl," the stranger, Josie, greeted with a small smile.

Cheryl gave her a short nod as her eyes drifted to meet Veronica’s own sleepy pair. The brunette cook felt a pulse between her legs as those eyes locked with hers and she shifted uncomfortably at her body's reaction to the snobby woman.

"Oh, hello, cook." she said quietly, her gaze drifting to the mess of hair on her head before dropping to the creases the sheets had imprinted on her arms while she slept. "I didn't see you there."

"Hey." Veronica muttered, her cheeks hot in embarrassment as she imagine just how horrible she probably looked. She made sure her bag and uniform covered her braless chest as she bit her bottom lip anxiously.

"I'm surprised I somehow missed you. Do you often wake up looking as if you've been sleeping for an entire millennium or am I just lucky to have witnessed this rare occasion?"

A scowl pulled at Veronica’s lips. "Do you even sleep, vampire? No wonder you're always in a bad mood."

"Vampires are universally known to be beautiful and majestic creatures, so thank you for that compliment, Veronica Lodge." Cheryl responded with an amused twitch to her lips. Veronica rolled her eyes – something she often did in the redhead’s presence.

“They're also known to be something to avoid." Cheryl brushed her fringe from her eyes with two fingers, exposing her quirked brow.

“Then why are you still standing here and making a scene in front of my guest?" Veronica blinked and looked towards the cute, tall woman in surprise. She had forgotten her in the haze of her every day Cheryl Rage. Josie was looking between the two of them with a distinct curiosity lurking in her murky eyes.

“Don't you have a job to be doing, Veronica Lodge?" Cheryl spoke again, her voice pitched in that annoyingly soft octave. "Slaving over an oven, perhaps? Pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into my breakfast only to come up with something so mundane that even I, who has never stepped into a kitchen with the intention of cooking, could do better at?"

Veronica’s teeth ground together in harsh contact as her tongue rolled and curled to the unspoken words of 'fuck you' behind the white barrier.

"Now, go clean yourself up, cook." Cheryl’s dark eyes looked her up and down as she donned that fucking smirk. "The least you can do is appear half-way decent in the presence of a stranger." She added, motioning towards Josie. "Have you no manners?"

Biting her tongue, Veronica’s eyes slit into a dangerous glower. Arousal forgotten, she all but stomped to the bathroom as she willed herself not to spit in Cheryl's portion of food later.

It wasn't until later that day - when Veronica was cleaning up after dinner - that she began to wonder what that Josie woman was going to say before Cheryl interrupted her: “You're the one with the n-"

Cheryl had clearly brought Veronica up in a conversation between the two women at some point during her short stay, and the insult Josie was bound to reveal before the interruption was undoubtedly going to drive her crazy as she tried to figure it out. Her mind had created a string of offensive terms Cheryl could have spit about her and without even knowing the truth, anger boiled in Veronica’s gut.

And then, against her will, she imagined Cheryl’s lips wrapping around the words her brain had created. She could see the woman’s full, pink lips curling and puckering to insults, her teeth moving together in that subtle rise of her jaw as she spoke quietly. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see the small flicks of Cheryl’s tongue behind her teeth, painstakingly cradling every syllable as her mouth pulled into her signature smirk of undisguised arrogance.

The ache she had woken with between her thighs built the longer she lingered in that image and it only made her angrier as she scrubbed the cabinet tops down with an aggressive press of her fingers to wet cloth. She unclasped the first two buttons of her uniform, allowing fresh air to touch her heated chest while she finished up her last duties of the day. Sweat clung to her skin and brow as she exited the hot kitchen, swiping her fringe from her damp forehead. Her jaw was locked in irritation to every hypothetical insult Cheryl could have said about her, ranging from her cooking abilities, to her middle class family background, and ending at her appearance.

Her heart pounded in adrenaline as her stomach knotted in unprovoked anger. Her mind conjured images of the delicate rise of Cheryl’s breasts beneath her shirt and the way her fiery locks curled brushed the soft looking nape of her neck. She saw the image of Cheryl in tight jeans hugging her small waist as she heard her voice demean Veronica’s mother in ways she had never actually heard her say.

Her body was trembling with the clash of fury bubbling in her blood and desire sinking vicious teeth into her skin as she prowled down the hallway, passing Cheryl’s closed door and throwing her own open. She pulled at the hot collar of uniform as she grabbed her toiletry bag and pyjamas. She nearly slammed her door shut behind herself in her first move of breaking the perpetual silence of the house as she stepped back into the hallway, catching sight of Josie and Cheryl slipping out of the redhead’s room, Josie’s footing not as calculatedly quiet as Cheryl’s, alerting Veronica of their presence.

Her breathing harsh and her skin hot, she stormed past them without breaking eye contact with the bane of her existence. Cheryl’s eyebrows were arched, her full lips furrowed in the ghost of a grin. She watched Veronica with a steady eye, and the brunette tried not to notice the expanse of milky white skin, exposed by her cropped shirt.

But she did. And her anger grew as she stalked to the bathroom and stepped inside. She held her glare to Cheryl’s as her fingers dug into the wood of the door. Josie dissipated into an irrelevant fog as Cheryl cocked her head an inch and pursed her lips, her stare unwavering. Veronica’s grip on the door tightened, and with one final scowl, she broke their trance and shut the door with one silent meeting of the door to the frame.

She turned the knobs of the shower on, bringing the water to life with a peaceful burst of spray from all directions. She shed her sweaty uniform and looked at herself in the mirror as she unclasped her bra and threw it carelessly to the ground. Her wide jaw was twitching, standing her cheekbones to attention against the blotchy red skin of her tanned cheeks. Her brows were lowered in anger she had never seen on her own face, her eyes swimming with fiery emotion. Her fists clenched and released in an endless cycle by her waist as she waited for the water to heat up.

She stared at herself for a long moment. Why was she so mad? Why was she so turned on from someone she couldn't stand? She could hear Josie’s footsteps and she knew that despite the fact that she couldn't hear them, Cheryl’s were close by as well. Her clit twitched and begged for attention as she recalled the way Cheryl’s body moved with such effortless grace as she walked, and the way her tight skirts clung to her bum in ways Veronica had only witnessed in her fantasies before meeting the other woman.

She remembered the desperation she had felt in her dream that morning as she moved in perfect synch with a taut body and pointedly did not connect the dots as she slipped her hand down her front. She couldn't... she shouldn't. But she couldn't stand it; she was going to explode if she didn't find release.

Her fingers brushed past the soft curls of her mound as she dipped further, tracing her wet lips as the front of her hand slipped in the mess she had created on the cloth over the past seventeen hours. She inched her legs apart and used the cabinet for leverage with her free hand as slipped one finger between her lips to trace the saturated and swollen flesh that throbbed with intense need she had never felt so powerfully before.

She tipped her head back, looking up at the white ceiling with a small gasp as she grazed her impossibly swollen clit, well aware of the two people on the other side of the door. Beneath the roaring water, a tortured whimper escaped her parted lips as she avoided teasing herself and began to rub her clit in tight circles. This was not a fun stress reliever; it was a necessity that she wanted over as quickly as possible.

She felt as if liquid heat was coursing through her veins and exploding between her legs as she overexerted the tightened muscle of her bicep while her hand worked frantically. She chewed her bottom lip as she swallowed raspy cries and traced figure eights over her thudding bundle of nerves, exploding much needed pleasure behind her tightly squeezed eyelids. Her lashes poked the swell of her cheek as her hips rocked into the pool forming in her hand and her lungs searched for humid air.

Her free hand dug into the granite as she heard Josie’s voice muffled beneath the water, and if she listened closely enough, the thick pronunciation of letters Cheryl lisped over the most noticeably. The sound spurred her on, tipping her into an orgasm as her fingertips carved maddening lust for the woman into her clit.

Her jaw dropped as the familiar rush crashed into her tiny frame, shaking her bones and jerking her forward as her hand clutched the granite for dear life. A strangled moan crawled at her throat and she bit her lip harder to keep it from escaping her throat, her hips rolling into her hand to catch the sensations roaring life into her gut. She continued to circle over her sensitive button as the euphoria lingered for a long moment, hovering over her in a mist that masked the reality of what she had just done for a blissful second.

But she couldn’t stay there forever, and as she came down from her high, her body slumped in defeat of her unprofessional act. She extracted her hand from her underwear and flinched at the fluid pruning the skin of her fingertips.

Mechanically, she walked over to the shower and held her hand beneath the spray, erasing the physical evidence while her mind crazed over the emotional backlash.

She had never felt this way before. She had never wanted to slam her fist into someone’s face and roam her hands over every inch of their body at the same time. She had never wanted someone’s sex without their heart. She had never desired to bypass romance and delve straight between their legs instead. She had never wanted to know what someone tasted like, how soft they were beneath her itching fingers, how their moans would pitch so desperately before. She had never been so easily angered, so aggressive, so rude.

She felt like she was going insane. Cheryl was breaking her, tearing down every moral and desire she had felt in the past twenty one years of her life in a mere two weeks. Sex without love had never existed in Veronica’s eyes, but suddenly it’s all she wanted.

She didn’t want to be this way. This was not the person she had ever cared to be. She was a romantic; a softie. She grew smitten when girls smiled at her, took them out on carefully planned dates and handed them bouquets of roses, kissed their cheek and whispered her excitement to see them again soon - she didn’t use the word ‘fuck’ for sex… it was always making love.

But she knew, without the fraction of a doubt, that she wanted to fuck Cheryl until there was nothing left of her but a wet patch on her expensive bedding.

And that terrified her.


	6. An Impromptu Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind feedback!

Acceptance. Love. Respect.

These words, etched into Veronica's brain and heart by her mother from the day she was born, meant everything to her. It was everything she believed in; everything she based her life off of. She was the one who brushed the dirt off bullied peer's knees, shadowing them from the bruising fists and cruel taunts. She found the beauty under the most destroyed wreckage of dark flaws. She accepted the worst in everyone and held their most fragile pieces with care between her fingers as she soothed the patches of past wounds.

So why was Cheryl different?

Veronica splashed the pool water with a flick of her bare toes and chewed on her bottom lip. How she felt about Cheryl shook her to her very core. If her mother could see the dirty fantasies that welled in her brain while she bared her teeth under curling lips and spat aggressively Cheryl's way, she would be so ashamed. She brought out the worst in her, unleashed a caged animal she hadn't  
known was lurking inside of her chest. She wished she still didn't know of its existence, but its scars had already made their marks within the harshly bitten cheeks and nail indentations in the flesh of her palms, a bad habit she had picked up from Betty. Cheryl rubbed her the wrong way, while simultaneously not rubbing her at all. And both of those things were an issue.

With a heavy sigh, Veronica tipped her head back and closed her eyes against the blinding sun rays behind the protection of her sunglasses. There was the smallest chill in the summer air today, enough to tug her beanie down her ears but keep the sleves of her flannel rolled to the elbow, exposing her bare forearms to the soft breeze. The grass sang a gentle melody as the wind brushed the blades from side to side in a lazy dance while birds chirped in the homes of their trees.

Everything was so peaceful out in the grounds of Thornhill manor, but Veronica's mind was anything but. After committing the unprofessional act of masturbating to her bosses daughter while said woman was only a few feet away, the black rivers of shame replaced her healthy blood. It pumped through her veins and welled in her heart before entombing her very being. If anyone were to somehow find out, she would lose her job. She wouldn't have this to put on her resume or help with the rent of in the apartment she shared with Betty, and it would be detrimental to any job she would desire in the future.

She had to cool off. She had to calm the fuck down, reign in her suddenly roaring hormones and tackle these horribly negative motions, and be the best goddamn cook the house had seen. She needed to throw herself into her work and ignore Cheryl no matter how impossible it may be. She had worked so hard for this. She wasn't going to let a bratty heiress ruin her dreams.

Rolling the tight muscles of her neck against her shoulders, she kicked the slightly cool water and listened to the quiet splash of the wave she had created.

"Why is it that everywhere I turn as of late, you're there?"

The brunette flinched as her heart rate accelerated and jumped a rush of shock up her spine. Her eyes flew open and she resisted the urge to throw her hand over her thumping chest. Speak of the devil. Holding a book to her chest, Cheryl stared down at Veronica with a tilt to her head. She wore an expensive looking, well fitted black leather jacket - as if the slight nip outdoors was a freezing blow - and Veronica forcibly did not find it attractive in the least.

Swallowing a scratching response, Veronica tightened her fingers against the poolside and muttered, "I can leave."

A small pull tugged at Cheryl's face, arching her brows and tightening her mouth. Her eyes lifted a small fraction as what Veronica assumed was confusion drifted over her features. "You don't have to leave, Veronica Lodge," The wind shielded her eyes with a curtain of hair before it was shoved away by Cheryl's slender fingers. "You are not hard to ignore."

Familiar anger rushed in Veronica's gut, but she clamped her teeth together tightly as Cheryl turned on the short heel of black ankle boots and made her way to the bench. Veroncia peeked through her lashes at the taller woman's bum and dug her fingers into the granite at the accompanied pulse in her awakened core at the subtle sway in Cheryl's hips.

Forcing herself to look away, she peered determinedly at the water her feet were emerged in and tried not to remember the burst of amazing pleasure she had given herself to thoughts of the woman only a short distance away. She tried not to think of the incomparable orgasm as it sent shocks through her body or the dreams she had been having for nearly three weeks. She grew lost in the ripples of water in the wind, hunched into herself almost protectively. She lifted her foot from the water and traced the multiple droplets curving down the arch of her limb slowly slipping to the curve of her ankle before submerging it yet again. Against her will, the question of what Cheryl would look like in a bathing suit knocked curiously on her brain. She glanced subtly towards the redhead, watching her eyes scan over the words of her book as she ignored Veronica with the ease she had expressed, and bit her full bottom lip thoughtfully.

She'd definitely be the type of woman to wear a bikini rather than a one-piece, Veronica decided. She looked comfortable in short skirts, and Veronica doubted she would ever wear the more androgynous clothing that the brunette herself often wore. That thought led her down the avenue of imagining Cheryl in a bikini suit, the (no doubt) red material clinging to her hips and breasts as she dipped her toes into the water cautiously. She imagined the sun dancing behind Cheryl's head like an ironic halo as her pale and shapely legs slipped into the water with a cold cringe. Veronica could hear herself mocking her for not diving in head first, calling her a wimp and laughing when Cheryl poised an eyebrow and dunked the rest of her body into the water with one rebellious dip.

The pink of the ginger girl's skin would stand out in the clean water as she swam beneath the surface to where Veronica was sitting on the edge of the pool. In her mind's eye, she could see Cheryl breaching the water with a flip of long, wet hair, darkened by the water. The water would cling to her sharp jaw and the small crevice above her tempting lips, pulled into a much less irritating version of her smirk as she bobbed before Veronica like a buoy.

Her heart rate picked up as she imagined wet hands reaching out to touch her inner thighs with a gentle, searing touch. Water droplets slipping past her palm to Veronica's warm skin as Cheryl would urge her legs apart and inch closer with an eager lick to her lips-

The fantasy ended abruptly as Veronica forced it from her mind with a vicious shake of her head. She felt like a sixteen year old boy with a crush on a girl wearing skinny jeans in French class, unable to stop hormones from raging at the mere sight of her leaning over her desk while speaking to the teacher. With an internal slap to her cheeks, she glanced back to Cheryl and saw she was deep within the heart of her novel. It had been about twenty minutes; the longest Veronica had ever spent in her presence, and the taller girl looked completely engrossed with her book.

"Is that the same book you were reading before?" the question was out of the brunette's mouth before she even knew she was wondering it. Cheryl's eyebrows drifted up her forehead in acknowledgement to Veronica's interruption of her reading, but she did not respond. After a long beat of silence, Veronica gave a small huff. "Okay, then…"

A quirk pulled at Cheryl's lips as she glanced up at the shorter woman, the wind flapping the pages of her book beneath her grip. "I was merely demonstrating how especially easy it is to ignore you."

"And yet you gave up pretty easily." Veronica countered.

Cheryl cocked her head with another tug to her lips, almost as if she were about to smile. "You're funny, cook." she said, but she was not chuckling the way Veronica was accustomed to when being told that exact thing.Veronica thought about saying something nice in return, but came up empty handed and realized Cheryl probably did not mean that in a kind way anyhow.

“You're not." she responded dully.

Cheryl’s eyebrows pulled together as her eyes dropped away from Veronica and to her book with a small tuck of her lips into her mouth. "Hmm." she murmured softly. Her fingers brushed the sharp corner of her novel, tracing the stack of pages she had already consumed with hungry eyes before looking back to the brunette. "Where are you from, Veronica Lodge?"

Caught off guard, she blinked. "I'm, uh, from a small town called Riverdale, not too far away. I’m studying in NYC though."

Cheryl gave a nod. "What do your parents do?"

Veronica’s brow furrowed in confusion at these genuine questions. "Why do you care?"

"I'm merely curious." Cheryl gave a small shrug of her shoulders, causing her vibrant hair to bounce slightly. "You've been in my home for, what has it been? Fifteen days? And yet I know little about you. Quite odd, don't you think?"

"No." Veronica answered honestly, taking her feet from the pool to dry on the granite. "I'm here for a job. I'm not here to make friends."

Cheryl’s brow pulled together once again and she hummed even quieter than the first time. She was silent for another long moment, mechanically scratching her finger across the paper in her hands. "I  
imagine your father is some sort of builder," she spoke up as if Veronica had never spoken. "An architect. Am I correct in assuming so?"

Veronica looked away, flashes of his cuffed hands as he was ushered out of the courtroom and into a holding cell peeking into the dark corners of her mind before she shoved them away. "He’s no longer in my life." she muttered bitterly.

Her brows relaxing, Cheryl gave a slow and understanding nod. "Ah. What does your mother do, then?"

With a roll of her eyes, Veronica sighed. Cheryl was clearly not going to let up her questioning, no matter how odd it was that she even cared. “She's a businesswoman. She’s working as a legal advisor for my friend’s dad’s construction company at the moment." she answered reluctantly.

"Does she support your dream to be a cook?" Cheryl closed her book with a glance to the page number and focused her unnerving attention fully onto the brunette.

"Uh, yeah."

"What makes you want to be one?" Cheryl prompted, clasping her fingers together in her lap like an impromptu interview.

Quirking her brow at her weird behavior, Veronica answered honestly, "I like cooking."

She slipped her beanie off her head to allow the wind to tousle the locks and ran her fingers over the soft material. “Seriously, why do you care, Cheryl?"

Cheryl untucked her fingers from their lock and cradled her book to her chest as her long lashes brushed her cheek in a slow blink. "Do you realize that you've never said my name to me in conversation?"

Veronica simply shrugged and tugged at a thread hanging from her beanie. She hadn't noticed, but she really didn't see why it  
mattered. Cheryl slipped her bottom lip between her teeth in an alluring grip. "I think I enjoy-"

"Miss Cheryl?" Smithers trudged past Veronica to approach the other woman, his old face wrinkled in a friendly smile. "Mrs. Blossom is requesting your presence in the dining hall."

"Oh," Cheryl’s back went tight as she stood with an almost hasty movement. "Alright. Thank you, Smithers."

She turned to Veronica, her eyes dancing across her features with a small tug of her lips. “See you later, cook."

"Miss Lodge." Smithers added with a small bow.

Veronica gave a small nod as she watched the two of them depart with a quiet conversation and her face scrunched up, wondering what that was all about and if it was going to happen again. She hoped not; it made her feel almost uncomfortable to be questioned by Cheryl.

She tapped her fingers on her thigh before shrugging off the oddity and grabbed her phone from her pocket to call her mom and pretend like she was a better person than she had turned out to be over the last two weeks.

The least she could do for her mother was put on a facade.


End file.
